


watermelon seeds

by keptein



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Manicures & Pedicures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou, a fairly recently hired nail artist atCute-icle, gets stuck with a customer no one else will deal with. Luckily for him, they're both thirsty, and not just because of the summer heat.





	watermelon seeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decidueye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/gifts).



> this fic is a celebration of summer & almost the silliest thing i've written. it's for tawni (as most things are). thanks to nasper for roleplaying an awesome yukie, i drew a lot of inspiration from her! i also just... haven't written yamamoto for a long time, which is why he's in this. also because i loved the idea of these two buff guys doing people's nails. both bokuto and akaashi have a history of depression in this, which is touched on but not discussed in-depth.

"A customer just called," Shirofuku says when Koutarou hits up the counter. His nose is full of nail polish fumes, and he's a little lightheaded from dehydration, but otherwise he's in a good mood. The sun is shining, and the salon is busy, just the way Koutarou likes it. Clearly, Shirofuku has decided to use this to her advantage. "Are you okay to come in next Thursday?"

"Next Thursday?" Koutarou frowns. "Wasn't that supposed to be my day off?"

"It's not like you have a life, Bokuto," Shirofuku says casually. "You can come in, can't you?"

"Eh! Yamamoto is working then, anyway! Can't he do it?"

"He refuses to see Akaashi. And likewise."

"What? Who is this guy, is he annoying or something?"

"No," Shirofuku replies after a moment, and the hesitation definitely makes Koutarou doubt her. "He's very pleasant, just... particular. But you're good, you'll be fine."

Koutarou automatically puffs out his chest with pride. "Thanks!"

"So you'll do it?" Shirofuku says immediately, leaning forward. "You're such a good nail artist, after all. There's no way he would be unhappy with you."

"Of course!" Koutarou responds before he's even had the chance to think about it. Shirofuku's right, it's not like he had any plans that day - and even if this Akaashi does turn out to be super annoying, it's still extra money in Koutarou's bank account.

"Excellent," Shirofuku says sweetly, reaching for the planner. "I'll book him in at 2pm, that's his preferred time."

"He has a preferred time? How come I've never seen him here before, if you're so familiar with him?"

"He came a lot.. hm, it must've been a year ago?" Shirofuku taps her chin with the pen, thoughtful. "But he and Yamamoto really don't get along, and that's when Kiyoko quit, so I think he went with her. But now she's moved to Kyoto... I guess he's coming back to us."

"We're a second choice?" Koutarou says sadly. Shirofuku reaches out and pats his cheek, consoling.

"Don't worry, baby. He hasn't seen your work yet, I'm sure that'll make us his first choice for all his beauty needs."

"I'll bring my A-game!" Koutarou promises, and Shirofuku grins.

"Good. You should go get lunch, drink some water. It's hot out."

"Ah - yeah," Koutarou says, turning on his heel and heading to the back room. Only when he's in the cooling wind of the air conditioning, eating his sandwich, he realises that Shirofuku talked him into taking an appointment with a nightmare client on his day off. God _damn_ it.

*

On the Thursday, Shirofuku calls him in the morning, catching Koutarou just as he comes home from his run.

"Bokkun, my favourite!" she says.

"Hello," he responds suspiciously. "What do you want? I know I'm coming in at two."

"Since you're coming in anyway, I booked you another appointment at three thirty," she says. "Is that alright?"

He rubs his forehead. "You've already booked it in?"

"Yup," Shirofuku says cheerily.

"So I can't really refuse."

"Nope."

"Alright," he sighs, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "I guess it's fine."

"Hey, it's all because of your growing reputation. Oh, and you should come in at one thirty or earlier, to make sure everything is set up right for Akaashi."

"Why? Can't you set it up?"

"I'm busy," she says. "I have other things to do. Besides, it's your responsibility not to keep him waiting."

Koutarou sighs again, holding the rear of the phone up to his mouth to make sure she hears it. "I'll be there."

"Good! See you," Shirofuku says and hangs up.

*

Koutarou is standing by the door to the backroom when Akaashi shows up at 1.55pm.

At least, Koutarou assumes that it's Akaashi, because Shirofuku immediately straightens and looks more proper than she ever does, unless there's a health inspection. "Welcome back!" she says, the pitch of it making Koutarou wince.

"Hello," Akaashi says. Koutarou hasn't seen his face yet, but his voice is pleasant. Usually, the few guys who visit Cute-icles are of the flamboyant, excitable type, and although Koutarou can be one of them too, it can be distracting to have that affected tone in his ear for an hour. Akaashi's voice is smoother than that, although it's not very dark. "I'm here to see Bokuto-san."

Shirofuku nods, smiling brightly. "Let me just go get - oh, Bokkun," she says as she turns to the side, surprised to see him standing so close. He gives a small wave and comes up to the counter.

"Hi! I'm Bokuto, I'll be your nail artist for the day."

Akaashi turns to him, and Koutarou takes a moment to gape. Taking a moment is gracious, because it implies Koutarou has a choice, which he absolutely does not - Akaashi is flippin' gorgeous, with long, wavy black hair, high cheekbones, thin features and dark eyes. "Hello," Akaashi says again, just as smooth. "Please take good care of me."

"Mhm!" Koutarou says, voice breaking like he’s going through puberty. He quickly clears his throat. "Follow me, please. Would you like anything to drink? Something hot, or something cold?"

"A glass of water, please," Akaashi says, wiping his forehead in one precise, perfect motion. "It's quite hot out."

"Quite," Koutarou agrees. He hopes Akaashi thinks his red cheeks are also from the heat. He leads Akaashi to his station, bringing the chair out for him. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll just go fetch you that water."

"Thank you."

Koutarou goes to the small kitchen, filling a glass with ice cubes and the fancy filtered water that only customers get, and sits down opposite Akaashi, shuffling some small bottles of polish around awkwardly. “Here you go! So, uh, what were you thinking?”

“I brought a photo,” Akaashi says plainly, reaching for his bag and pulling out a neatly folded photograph of sakura flowers in bloom, straightening it with the palm of his hand - one slim, long finger traces a particular branch as it cuts across the page. “I’d like this.”

“Isn’t it the wrong season for cherry blossoms? It’s June, not April...”

“It’s what I want,” Akaashi states, finger not moving. Koutarou starts and nods, reaching for some nail polish remover and oils.

“Yeah - ‘course. So, uh, we’ll do a white base, and then pale pink flower details.. Do you want the branch too? It might be a little overwhelming.”

“I trust you.”

This is when Koutarou starts to sweat. Akaashi clearly does not trust him, and it is up to him to make the right choice here - a make or break moment, as they refer to it in the biz. “I think we should keep it,” he decides finally. “It can cut across, so there’s, uh.. Y’know, they all fit together. And it’ll be less in the way sometimes, which is kinda - the best of both worlds?”

“Right,” Akaashi says. Koutarou can’t tell exactly, but he thinks he looks pleased.

After deciding on how to incorporate Akaashi’s photograph into it, and picking the embellishments Akaashi would like, Koutarou starts working on his nails. He goes over them with a gentle nail polish remover first, to clean them, and rubs oils into Akaashi’s hands, steadfastly not making eye contact. He files and shapes his nails, which are surprisingly ragged, before putting on a base coat.

Koutarou can’t really talk while he works. It always used to amaze everyone who’d met him during off hours, but he can’t concentrate if he’s also thinking about what a fool he’s making of himself by blabbering, so he always goes silent as soon as he needs to focus. If a customer talks to him, he’ll answer, but often a few minutes late and in a distracted tone. It doesn’t make for great customer service, but it does make for great manicures, so he thinks it evens out.

In other words: when he gets into it, he gets _into it._ His appointment with Akaashi is an hour of silence, occasionally broken by him asking Akaashi to move his hands. His eyes are trained on the design as it unfolds in front of him, and he only lifts his gaze when necessary. Akaashi is too distracting, anyway, with his ridiculous handsomeness.

However, all too soon, Koutarou runs out of reasons to keep his eyes down. He applies the last protective coat and moves the heat lamp over Akaashi’s hands, and then he reluctantly brings his gaze up. “That’s, uh, that’s all - just gotta wait for it to dry now.”

“I know,” Akaashi says. Koutarou winces. Of course Akaashi knows.

“Do you want anything? Some more water? You gotta stay hydrated, it’s so warm today.”

“I noticed earlier,” Akaashi says. “Another glass of water would be great, thank you.”

“Cool,” Koutarou says, barely restraining himself from slapping his forehead as he walks away.

In the kitchen, Yamamoto corners him as soon as he sees him. “Bokuto! Are you seeing -” he lowers his voice, hissing the name as he looks around - _“Akaashi_ today? Shirofuku said you were.”

“Yeah, we just finished,” Koutarou replies, confused.

“What?” Yamamoto stares at him. “But you’re not crying!”

“Eh - what… Akaashi-san made you cry?”

“That’s - that’s besides the point!” Yamamoto stutters, ears turning a bright pink.

“He did!” Koutarou cackles, punching Yamamoto in the arm. “What happened? Tell me everything!”

“You must’ve been through it,” Yamamoto insists. “He’s so nitpicky and critical, it was awful.”

“Huh… he didn’t say anything like that to me,” Koutarou says cheerfully. “Guess I’m just better than you.”

“You’re not,” Yamamoto says sourly, making Koutarou laugh. “Maybe he thinks you’re beyond hope. Or you just didn’t hear him ‘cause of your zen mode.”

“I would’ve heard it,” Koutarou says, but his smile is fading. Yamamoto lets him go with an exasperated shrug, and Koutarou carries Akaashi’s water to his station with care. When he sits down, it’s too embarrassing to ask Akaashi whether he thinks Koutarou’s done a good job or not, so instead he tidies the desk surface. “I think we’re done,” he says, after Akaashi has drunk his water. “Is it - are you satisfied?”

For a long, nerve-wracking moment, Akaashi studies his nails - then he shrugs and says, “I guess so, yes. Thank you.”

While it’s not the uninhibited praise Koutarou was looking for, it’s still something. “You’re welcome,” he says, a little half-hearted as he gets up to lead Akaashi to the counter.

“I’d like to come back,” Akaashi says.

Koutarou gapes at him, almost - almost - too taken aback to notice the way Akaashi’s eyelashes fan out when he blinks. _“Really?”_

Akaashi nods, holding out his credit card. Koutarou fumbles, accepting it after a second and putting it in the machine before handing it to Akaashi.

“Well - I’m here all the time, pretty much… sometimes I have Thursdays off, but if this is the best time for you, we can totally work something out -”

“I’m flexible,” Akaashi says, interrupting him. Koutarou’s train of thought screeches to a half, reduced to nodding dumbly. “So I can come at other times,” Akaashi elaborates after a moment, holding out the card machine. “Bokuto-san?”

“Ah! Right - right, right, thank you,” Koutarou says quickly, taking the machine and giving Akaashi back his credit card. “Well, uh, just… call anytime, then!”

“I will,” Akaashi says. He raises a hand as he starts to walk towards the door, newly manicured nails shimmering in the sunlight. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Koutarou says weakly, looking at the door long after Akaashi’s left.

*

Two weeks later, Shirofuku stops Koutarou just as he’s going on his lunch break. “Akaashi-san called,” she says.

“Who…?”

Shirofuku snorts. “As if.” Koutarou has always been see-through, but he feels especially so when people bring up Akaashi - Shirofuku in particular likes to crush what little is left of his dignity. “He asked when you were working, I said you have an open slot on Friday.”

It’s Wednesday. “Not Thursday,” Koutarou asks.

“It’s your day off,” Shirofuku says slowly, frowning.

“Well - if it’s _Akaashi-san…”_

Shirofuku laughs, shaking her head. “I didn’t think you’d sacrifice your free time so easily. He’s booked in for Friday at 3pm, but I can call him back if you’d like.” She deepens her voice, lowering her chin. “Please, Akaashi-san, it’s urgent… Bokkun needs to see you as soon as possible - actually, why don’t you just go to his apartment with him…?”

Koutarou squawks, pushing at her. “Hey! I’d never be that unprofessional.”

“Sure,” Shirofuku says, grinning. “So you’ll see him on Friday? 3pm, I’ll add it to the calendar.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Koutarou says, still embarrassed, and slinks away to the back room as soon as she turns away.

*

When Akaashi comes in again, Koutarou is prepared. No making a fool of himself this time, he thinks. Just being the coolest version of him that he can be.

But there is one thing he didn’t prepare for, which is that Akaashi comes into the salon wearing the cutest playsuit Koutarou has _ever seen._ The fabric is emerald green with with big, black flowers on it, and it brings out both the colour of Akaashi’s eyes and the brown tones in his skin. He mistakes it for a sundress at first, but when Akaashi takes a step, he can see that it’s got shorts - which is an unfortunate place to look, and an even more unfortunate place to be caught looking by Akaashi.

“H-hello, welcome to Cute-icles!” Koutarou says loudly, straightening. “Welcome back! Is it hot outside?”

Akaashi tosses his head. It’s almost a slow-motion movement, so entranced is Koutarou by the sight. “Yes,” he says. “But not as bad as it was earlier.”

“Mhm,” Koutarou croaks. “Water?”

Akaashi nods. “Please.”

He doesn’t look like someone who should need to say please, ever. He looks like some kind of celebrity, casually following Koutarou across the salon to Koutarou’s station.

“Just - wait here, I’ll bring - I’ll bring water,” Koutarou says. “Make yourself comfortable!” Across the salon, Yamamoto is working, and he stares at Koutarou as he walks away, willing him to walk over.

Koutarou shakes his head, still blushing, and goes straight to the kitchen. He comes back with two glasses of water and a freshly splashed face, sitting across from Akaashi.

“So! What are we doing today?”

“Watermelon,” Akaashi says, holding out his nails. “For summer.”

“Fitting! Do you want - with the seeds, or…?”

Akaashi shakes his head. “Just an ombre. Red to green.”

“I get you,” Koutarou says, rooting around until he finds the colours he’s thinking of. Up close, he can see that Akaashi’s nails are free of the paint he put on them a couple of weeks ago - and dry, too, which suggests that he removed it at home. Maybe Koutarou can get him to buy an oil on the way out, if he’s going to keep doing that. “How about these?”

“I like them,” Akaashi nods. Koutarou beams. He’s always feasted on approval, but Akaashi’s is another drug entirely, and he’s teetering on the edge of addiction.

God, what a mess he is, and on their second ever meeting, as well - it’s a good thing no one can read his thoughts, so only he has to suffer through the mediocre poetry that comes to mind when looking at Akaashi.

He starts to clean and file Akaashi’s nails in silence. The buzz of the salon around them is just white noise to him at this point, and Akaashi’s hands are so beautiful. It’s easy for Koutarou to get lost in them, focusing entirely on bringing to life the fixed image he has in his head.

He applies the polish in layers, humming every so often when Akaashi makes conversation. It’s not that he wants to come across as rude, but Akaashi’s nails need to be perfect - Koutarou has no time for chit-chat, he needs to get things done around here.

When he finishes the ombre, the nails still look lacking. Koutarou lets Akaashi inspect them, before he says, “are you sure you don't want the seeds? I think it would give it a more complete look.”

Akaashi raises his eyebrow, and Koutarou swallows, belatedly realising that he's challenging the wishes of a paying customer.

“I mean - I’m not going to add them if you don’t like them! But we could just do it as a feature nail, maybe, to complete the - y’know, because black is like… your thing, kind of? You’re always wearing black, so I think it would look… really good.” He wilts, trailing off and looking at Akaashi nervously.

After a beat, Akaashi nods slowly. “Fine,” he says. “On my ring finger.” He holds out his right hand, and Koutarou moves it to rest on the cushion, opening a drawer and pulling out some black polish and a fine paintbrush.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll just take it off,” Koutarou promises, settling and bending his head to get a clearer view. “But you will!”

Akaashi hums. Koutarou can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but soon it doesn’t matter, because the world narrows to the tip of his brush, and the three black teardrops he’s carefully drawing onto Akaashi’s nail.

After however long it takes, he sits back and looks over it, satisfied. “See? It looks good!”

Akaashi holds his hand up, studying it in the light, and then he nods, satisfied. “It does. Do all of them.”

Koutarou beams. “All of them? Okay.”

He successfully dots each of Akaashi’s nails with three black seeds, and then he puts on the top coat, sealing them with the lamp. “Would you like to try our cuticle oil? It helps moisturise the nail under the polish. Plus, it smells like marzipan, which is delicious!”

“Is it extra?” Akaashi asks, looking guarded. Koutarou blinks.

“Ah… you can buy it from the counter when you leave, but it’s free as part of your treatment.” A white lie, but a small one, and Koutarou doubts Akaashi will catch him in it -

“You didn’t mention it last time.”

He winces. “Uh - yeah, sorry, I forgot… I haven’t worked here for that long.” That, at least, is true, as long as half a year is ‘not that long’.

Akaashi regards him. “Okay,” he says finally.

Koutarou smiles, relieved, and reached for the clear bottle of oil, putting a bit on all of Akaashi’s nails and massaging it in. Akaashi’s cuticles are bitten and uneven, just like his nails were when they first met, and Koutarou makes sure to rub the oil in until it’s absorbed by the skin, quick and thorough. He finishes, sitting back and wiping his hands. “There, that’s us done! What do you think? Do you like them? They’re very summery, very cute. Fits this nice weather.”

Akaashi hums in agreement, holding his hands up and looking at them from different angles. “I like them,” he says. “The seeds were a good idea.”

“Phew,” Koutarou says, making a show of wiping his forehead in relief. Akaashi starts to laugh, and Koutarou is caught off-guard by the sight, grin widening. Akaashi’s laugh is beautiful, and so rewarding that Koutarou almost forgets that the real currency of society is money.

Akaashi stands up while Koutarou is busy being starstruck, picking up his messenger bag. “Should I go pay?” he asks. Koutarou stands up and bangs his knee hard against his desk - he bites his cheek, trying not to curl in on himself in pain.

“I’ll walk you,” he chokes out.

Akaashi watches him, bemused. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Koutarou wheezes, gesturing towards the counter. “Please.” As soon as Akaashi starts walking, Koutarou hobbles after him.

“Thank you for today,” Akaashi says when Koutarou hands him back his card. “You did a very good job.”

Koutarou stares at him, mouth falling open. He wets his lips, trying to take in the compliment, and Akaashi’s eyes flicker down before he moves away suddenly.

“See you next time, Bokuto-san.”

“Thank you,” Koutarou starts to say, but the door is already shutting behind Akaashi.

*

By Akaashi’s next appointment, Koutarou is determined to make it last longer. Akaashi wants nails in red and yellow, the colour of fallen leaves, and it doesn’t matter how determined Koutarou is - as soon as he’s done and able to open his mouth, Akaashi pays and disappears out the door.

Koutarou looks so despondent while watching him go that both Yamamoto and Shirofuku come up to him afterwards.

“You really like him, hm?” Shirofuku says sympathetically. “You should just ask him out.”

“I didn’t want to chase him away,” Koutarou says miserably. It’s true, and less embarrassing than owning up to the fact that he chickened out.

“You have awful taste,” Yamamoto informs him.

“I’d tap that,” Shirofuku says. “He’s very attractive.”

“He is,” Koutarou sighs, longing. _“So_ attractive.”

Yamamoto huffs. “You’re too good for him,” he says. “He can probably tell.”

“If anything, it’s the other way around,” Koutarou replies. “Did you see him when I got him to laugh again today? _Wow.”_

“Mhm,” Yamamoto grunts, unimpressed.

“I’m gonna help you,” Shirofuku says after she’s been quiet for a moment. “But promise me you won’t make him uncomfortable or anything, okay? Remember, you’re representing all of us.”

“Of course,” Koutarou says, confused. “What are you going to do?”

“Next time he calls, I’ll book him in for a spa treatment. It’ll be complementary.”

“You can do that?” Koutarou asks, amazed, just as Yamamoto says,

“Hey, he doesn’t deserve a free treatment…”

Shirofuku shakes her head, ignoring Yamamoto. “No, but I can make an honest mistake. But you owe me lunch now, understand? At least twice. And don’t be a creep!”

“I’m not gonna be, I promise,” Koutarou says, taking her hands and shaking them vigorously. “Thank you! Thank you!”

“I’m going to go and set up,” Yamamoto says, glaring at both of them as he walks away. “Traitors!”

Shirofuku takes her hands out of Koutarou’s, looking embarrassed by his display. “Don’t make such a big deal out of it, Bokkun,” she tells him. “I’m just giving you a chance to talk to him.”

“Still, that’s a lot! Thank you!” Koutarou gives her a sincere bow and Shirofuku laughs, tension melting away.

“You’re the one who has to make a good impression,” she says. “Although judging from the way he looks at you, that won’t be difficult.”

“Really?” Koutarou’s eyes widen in realisation. “Wait - what if I start babbling? Oh no, Shirofuku, I’m going to mess it all up!”

“Relax,” she says, which feels like the opposite of what she was saying a second ago. “He already likes you. He keeps coming back, right?”

“But that’s just because I’m amazing at my job,” Koutarou says sadly.

Shirofuku laughs again. “Don’t worry, I don’t think that’s the only reason. Now go do your amazing work, I have things to do.”

“Yes, yes,” Koutarou sighs, shuffling back to his desk like a recalcitrant school-boy. A spa treatment - that means Akaashi will be in for over an hour next time he comes in.

An _hour_ of Akaashi time. Koutarou will have to become a vastly interesting person within the next two weeks.

*

Mission: Become Cool is a complete and total failure, and when it’s the day of Akaashi’s next appointment, Koutarou is somehow still a college drop-out with a failed athletic career and no life to speak of. He tells as much to Shirofuku during lunch, but she clucks her tongue and tells him off.

“Be positive! You’re always so sunny and cute, that’s how you gotta draw him in.”

“I’m not sunny,” Koutarou says gloomily, finishing his sandwich. “Everything sucks and I’m doomed to be forever alone. Maybe I’ll get some fish. Nevermind, they’d probably just die.”

_“Bokkun,”_ Shirofuku says sternly. “You’re a very charming person. And you’re cute. Make sure to smile at him, okay? You have a nice smile.”

Koutarou groans, moving to fold his arms on the table and bury his head in them. “I can’t smile,” he says, muffled. “I’ll be like those creepy old men on the subway who smirk at you when you’re just minding your own business.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Yamamoto says from the other side of the table. He’s been eating in silence so far, occasionally entering other conversations going on in the break room, and Koutarou lifts his head to look at him curiously.

“You think so?”

“Akaashi has…” Yamamoto makes a face, but soldiers on. “Clearly changed. And if he’s not rude as fuck to you, that’s definitely a sign that he likes you. I say go for it.”

“Wow… that’s kinda heartwarming, Yamamoto.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Yamamoto says simply, shrugging. “And if Akaashi is what you want, then you have to at least try. Right?”

“Right… but not be creepy about it,” Koutarou says, looking over at Shirofuku to see her nodding vigorously.

“Don’t make any sort of - advances while he’s still your customer. Just talk about nice things! Make him see how charming you are.”

“I’m not _charming,”_ Koutarou wails, self confidence shattered as easily as Yamamoto had built it up, burying his head in his arms again.

Shirofuku sighs.

When Akaashi comes in for his appointment a few hours later, Koutarou has bitten his own nails to shreds and filed them back into something resembling shapes, waiting anxiously. Shirofuku calls him over, but he’s already there, reaching out to take Akaashi’s bag. “Hello, welcome back to Cute-icles, you look nice today, what’s the weather like?”

Akaashi blinks, giving Koutarou his messenger bag with a wary glance and walking with him to Koutarou’s station. “Thank you. It’s still hot.”

Koutarou clears his throat, sitting down. He has already prepared Akaashi’s glass of water, and Akaashi drinks from it without comment. “Figures. It’s pretty hot these days.”

“It’s summer,” Akaashi says dryly.

“Right. Right, so it is. So, uh… what are we doing today?”

Akaashi holds out his hands. “I want snow bunnies,” he says, which is not what Koutarou expected at all. “And your receptionist talked about.. A treatment? Because it’s my fourth time coming? I didn’t fully understand.”

“Ah - uh, yeah, it’s a… loyalty thing! Which means you’ll get an exfoliating scrub, a masque and a massage.”

“For free?”

Koutarou nods, sorting through his colours. “But we’ll do your nails first. If that’s okay. Let’s see, snowbunnies.. I think French, and then with white details… oh, and ruby gems for the eyes…! Greens for the ears, too, which I can draw, but we should save that for a feature nail, otherwise it’ll be too overwhelming…” He finds the equipment he needs and starts applying the polish, falling silent as he works. Akaashi’s presence on the other end of the desk, which he thought would make him anxious and jittery, is instead reassuring. Akaashi has learned not to make small talk, so Koutarou doesn’t have to be trying to seem smooth and cool while also working really hard.

The snowbunnies start to appear on Akaashi’s nails, an abstract story told over ten small surfaces, and Koutarou uses a precise brush to outline the leafy ears on his ring fingers, being careful and exact in his movements. When he’s finished, he sits back and stretches, bones cracking. “There, what do you think?”

Akaashi inspects his nails, gaze as dutiful as ever. “They’re perfect,” he says finally, giving Koutarou a smile which briefly turns him religious. “Thank you.”

Koutarou beams in return. “Awesome! I’ll just seal them, and then we’ll move on to the spa treatment, okay?”

“Alright,” Akaashi says, watching Koutarou as he puts the top coat on, then gestures for Akaashi to put his fingers under the light.

While Akaashi’s nails dry, Koutarou gets a bowl of water ready, some towels, and the exfoliating scrub and masque, with two cotton gloves for Akaashi to wear while the masque soaks in.

He spreads a towel on the desk, taking Akaashi’s hand and spreading the scrub over it, massaging it in. Touching people’s hands lost its sensationalism very quickly, but he still gets a theoretical thrill out of holding Akaashi’s hands, even if it’s purely professional.

After rubbing the exfoliator in carefully, he rinses it off with warm towels and gets a big brush for the masque. “This’ll have to sit for like… ten minutes,” he says, brushing the silvery liquid over Akaashi’s very nice hands. “To really soak in, you know? It’ll make your skin super soft and nice, though.”

“Nice,” Akaashi repeats dryly, moving his hands into the gloves when Koutarou holds them out.

“So you can drink things!” Koutarou explains. “Gotta, gotta stay -”

“Hydrated,” Akaashi finishes. “So you keep saying.”

Koutarou laughs, embarrassed, and sits back. “Well, it’s really warm.”

“I’ve lived in Tokyo all my life,” Akaashi says, “I’m familiar with the weather.”

“Oh, cool! So have I! You grew up here?”

Akaashi nods, seeming surprised by Koutarou’s response. “I went to Nohebi Academy.”

“Wow, really? I went to Fukurodani!”

“I’ve heard of them… that’s a popular sports school, isn’t it?”

“Volleyball,” Koutarou nods, back straightening. “I was the captain of the team!”

Akaashi’s eyebrows raise, impressed. “Did you pursue it?”

“For a while,” Koutarou says, and then he slumps, tidying his desk so he doesn’t have to look at Akaashi. “Didn’t go anywhere. Well, almost - but then it fell through, and, uh… now I’m here.”

“You’re very good at what you do now,” Akaashi says after a moment. Koutarou blinks, looking back up at him. Usually, people pick up enough to offer some clumsy reassurance, but Akaashi’s eyes are calm and cold when they gaze back at him, not an ounce of sympathy in sight. It’s refreshing, but also a little disorienting - Koutarou wonders if he’s like that all the time, or if he’s making an effort to be different.

“Thank you,” he says. “What about you, what do you do?”

Akaashi hesitates, hands pulling back and drinking from his glass. “I’m a filmmaker,” he says, after he’s put the water back down. “A… well, a director, I suppose, but I run an independent company, so I end up fulfilling a lot of roles.”

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Koutarou stares at him, starry-eyed. “Have you made anything I’ve seen? Is it online? Do you act, too? You should! Can I go see it, is it like - cinema stuff!”

“No,” Akaashi replies, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s online… I can give you my business card if you’d like.”

“Please!” Koutarou sits, waiting, but Akaashi holds up his gloved hands.

“Maybe afterwards.”

“Right - right, right, of course… So, uh, can I ask you - what’s with the themes?”

“Hm?”

“You know, the…” Koutarou gestures. “The themes! Your nails. First spring, then summer, then fall, now winter… Oh! Are you shooting a movie? That’d be so cool!”

“I’m not,” Akaashi says. “It’s unrelated to my job.” He opens his mouth, hesitating, and Koutarou rushes to fill the pause.

“Oh, that’s fine, then! I didn’t mean to pry, I’m just pretty - well, I never really learned how to shut up, everyone tells me, so feel free to disregard everything I say.”

“I like it. It’s a little surprising.”

“‘Cause I’m so quiet? Yeah…” Koutarou reaches up, scratching his neck. “I get that a lot, too.”

“It’s interesting,” Akaashi says, as if that’s all that matters. “My nails…” He falls silent again, gazing down at the gloves, and Koutarou works very hard not to interrupt him again. “It’s quite personal.”

“You don’t have to tell me! Who am I, anyway, I’m just some random guy, definitely don’t feel pressured to tell me…”

“Not just some random guy,” Akaashi corrects him. “You're the one executing my ideas. You deserve to know where they came from.”

Koutarou can't help but beam. “Well, if you insist! Please tell me.”

“I -” Akaashi hesitates again, then takes a deep breath. “I was involved with a project a year ago. It did not get a good reception.”

“Mhm?” Koutarou inquires gently, encouraging him to continue.

“It was… difficult. And I stopped - well, everything,” Akaahi says, tone sardonic. “Some months ago I started seeing someone, and she suggested that I start doing this.” He looks down at his gloved hands, self-conscious. Koutarou isn’t completely following, but he doesn’t need to in order to recognise the look on Akaashi’s face. It’s that unique combination of guilt and shame that you feel when you don’t think you deserve to do nice things for yourself, and Koutarou still sees it in the mirror sometimes. It inhibits you, but you still have to fight against it. It feels like a bit of an honour, to be part of Akaashi’s fight, even though his part isn’t exactly big. All it means is that he needs to show Akaashi that he deserves good stuff, no matter how he feels about it.

“I see,” Koutarou says slowly. “But the theme is your idea?”

“To make up for the year I missed,” Akaashi says softly. Ever since the first time Koutarou saw him, Akaashi has seemed untouchable and indifferent, but not right now. He looks small in the middle of the busy salon, tensed so tight that Koutarou thinks the gentlest touch could make cracks appear.

“That’s kinda lovely,” he says, then, “not just kinda. That’s really lovely, actually. Is it helping?”

“Somewhat,” Akaashi says. He is relaxing, slowly but surely. “Thought it is a bit of a mismatch with the weather, as you always love to point out.”

Koutarou laughs, loud and surprised. “It’s not a bad thing! It just makes it more… memorable.”

Akaashi hums, clearly not buying it, and Koutarou laughs again.

“Thank you for telling me, though.” He gives Akaashi a wide, honest smile, and Akaashi smiles back.

“You’re welcome.”

Koutarou looks at the clock on the wall quickly, grimacing when he sees that it’s almost time to take the masque off. He wants to ask Akaashi out so badly, but the fear of rejection is paralysing, and Shirofuku’s warning is still vivid in his memory. “Hey, um, Akaaashi-san… can I ask you something?”

Akaashi sits up, looking at him. “Yes?”

Like last time, Koutarou chickens out. “The - the other guy who works here, Yamamoto… why do you refuse to work with him?”

“Oh.” Akaashi’s lips thin in distaste. “He’s very childish.”

“I’m childish too, though,” Koutarou points out. “And he’s really good at nails.”

“Not as good as you,” Akaashi says simply, shrugging and sitting back. “And you’re much nicer to look at.”

“Wh -” Koutarou’s mouth falls open, red slowly spreading over his cheeks and neck. “Really--?”

“Of course.”

“Yamamoto’s hot, though!”

Akaashi shrugs again. “Not really my type,” he says. “You are.”

“I - wh-- even when - I’m a _loser,”_ Koutarou says, “and I won’t stop talking, you thought I’d stop talking, but I don’t. Ever!”

“Unless you’re doing my nails, right? So I’ll make you do my nails when I need you to shut up.”

“That’s - you’re -” Koutarou’s mouth works, but nothing comes out. He felt like he was having some kind of absurd sex fantasy, or maybe a nightmare. “You wanna - wait, no, this is me being a creep! I need to, you need to stop making me so flustered, I need to do my job so you stop being my customer.”

“Alright,” Akaashi says, looking amused. He lets Koutarou take the gloves off and clean his hands, and now that Koutarou knows he’s interested, touching Akaashi’s hands is another world of intimacy - the noise of the moisturiser feels overtly sexual, and the smooth glide of his hands over Akaashi’s makes nervous tingles wander up Koutarou’s spine. He can’t do a good job of rubbing the moisturiser in, too distracted by the conversation they just had, and when he sits back and wipes his hands, he thinks that if it were anyone else, he’d be embarrassed by the work he did.

But it’s Akaashi, and Akaashi is looking at him from the other side of the table, eyes still glinting.

“You’re so _confident,”_ Koutarou says, staring. “How do you do it?”

“You’re cute,” Akaashi says. “And I like you. Will you go for coffee with me sometime?”

“Stop it!” Koutarou flushes again, standing up and giving Akaashi his bag. “Not until you’ve paid!”

“This whole time, I thought you were cool and unapproachable,” Akaashi muses, taking his bag and putting it over his shoulder. “But you’re not.”

“I have - attention stuff, that’s why it’s hard for me to talk while I work…”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgement, watching him. “That makes sense.”

“You’re the worst customer I’ve ever had,” Koutarou grouses, walking Akaashi to the counter.

“Hello!” Shirofuku says when they come up to her, smiling at Akaashi. “Did you have a pleasant time today?”

“Very,” Akaashi says. As he pays, he pulls a business card from his wallet and hands it to Koutarou. “Here, like I promised. My phone number is on this. Use it.”

Then he walks out, and Koutarou is left speechless, holding a pristine white business card in his hand.

“Wow,” Shirofuku says after a moment. “So you did it, huh?”

“No,” Koutarou says faintly. “He beat me to it.”

She laughs. “He asked you out? I knew it!”

“Shirofuku,” Koutarou starts, voice wobbly, “he’s so perfect, I’m in love.”

“Oh - please don’t start crying, there’s customers looking…”

“I can’t help it! I love him!”

“You’ve met three, four times,” Shirofuku says, shaking her head and smiling. “Go, take a break. Moon over your love. Text him - but don’t say you love him yet, please, that’s way too much.”

Koutarou sniffs. “Okay,” he says, and wanders to the break room. As soon as he sits down, he gets his phone out and types Akaashi’s number into it, saving it immediately. Even if he loses the card, the number will be safe.

He types out a message. _Hey this is Bokuto. From Cute-icles!_ _Is that co_

“Hey,” Yamamoto says from beside him, making Koutarou jump and accidentally hit send.

“No!” he wails. “You interrupted me! I got Akaashi’s number and now the first message I’ve sent is incomprehensible!”

“You got his number?” Yamamoto whistles. “So you finally did it.”

“I didn’t even, he beat me to it,” Koutarou moans, trying to type out another message. _SORRY Yamamoto interrupted me!!!!! Is that coffee still on the ta_

“Good for you, who knows how long it would’ve taken you to do it,” Yamamoto says, and he startles Koutarou again, making him send the incomplete message.

“Ah! I thought you’d gone, why are you still here!?”

“I work here,” Yamamoto says slowly. He leans over, looking at Koutarou’s phone. “Wow, that’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Everyone here _sucks,”_ Koutarou whines. “Don’t interrupt me.” _HE INTERRUPTED ME AGAIN IM SO SORRY OTL OTL OTL OTL OTL Can we still go out I promise Im not this lame usually_

Yamamoto watches him send it before he nods, approving. “Nice. Not your best, but nice.”

Koutarou puts his phone down, sighing loudly. “He’s not gonna text back,” he says. “That was too weird. And too fast.”

Koutarou’s phone jingles with the sound of an incoming message. “I think you’re fine,” Yamamoto says mildly as Koutarou hurries to check it.

**FROM: Akaashi ! ! ! ! ! ! <3??? <3!!!!**

_It made me laugh. Let’s go out for dinner this weekend._

“Yeah,” Yamamoto says. “Dude, you could power a whole city with that smile. You’re definitely fine.”

Koutarou can’t speak, too busy beaming as he types out a response.

**TO: Akaashi ! ! ! ! ! ! <3??? <3!!!!**

_Yeah!!!! I know a good place!!!_

Almost immediately, his phone beeps again. Koutarou wonders if Akaashi’s waiting for the subway at the stop across the road. For a moment, he imagines running over and giving him a big, dramatic kiss, but he should save that for later.

**FROM: Akaashi ! ! ! ! ! ! <3??? <3!!!!**

_I look forward to seeing you. Don’t forget I’m not your customer this time._

“I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” Yamamoto says. “Something tells me you’ll be stuck in the clouds for the rest of the day.”

Koutarou nods vigorously, typing. _I wont!!!! I really like you!!!!!!_

**FROM: Akaashi ! ! ! ! ! ! <3??? <3!!!!**

_That’s pretty soon… but I like you too._

 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is just 6k of I LOVE BOKUAKA, huh. catch me at [tumblr](http://tivruskis.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/tivruskis), both as tivruskis.


End file.
